


Turn Off The Light

by arojameswesley



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 02:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arojameswesley/pseuds/arojameswesley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre isn't afraid of the dark. He's a grown man, for goodness sake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn Off The Light

**Author's Note:**

> I'm once again taking prompts: agameofwriting.tumblr.com. This was originally filled over there but I'm posting here, too.

Combeferre isn’t afraid of the dark. Rationally, he knows that there is nothing to be afraid of. It’s simply an absence of light, rendering every day things unrecognisable and, therefore, threatening. He knows that. He also knows that at least forty percent of adults admit to a phobia of the dark and that Courfeyrac would find it hilarious if he found out. 

So Combeferre has done his best to hide his phobia from his lover of seven months. He’s quite proud of how he’s done so far for he’s certain that Courfeyrac has no clue. 

Except that Courfeyrac suspects there’s something Combeferre isn’t telling him and that suspicion is proven one night about seven and a half months into their relationship. Not that Courfeyrac is keeping track of how long they’ve been together or anything. 

He’s woken by a blinding bright light and the sound of harsh breathing next to him. 

“Ferre?” he mumbles, lifting his head and peering at Combeferre through his hair. “What’s up?” 

“Nothing. Go back to sleep.” Combeferre’s voice is oddly terse, sharp in way that Courfeyrac has only heard directed at him once or twice in the past - and only after Combeferre has had a very long day at the hospital. 

Stifling a yawn, Courfeyrac rolls over and sits up, blinking blearily at his lover. “Sweetheart…” he knows that he’s caught Combeferre’s attention because he rarely calls him anything but Ferre. “Look at me?” 

Only when Combeferre complies does Courfeyrac carry on. 

“You can talk to me, you know. I’m not going to - to laugh or think any the less of you.”

There’s a pause in which Combeferre sighs heavily. 

Then it’s as if the floodgates open and Combeferre can’t seem to hold the words back. 

“I’m a grown man and yet I have this stupid, irrational fear of the dark. I wake up and - and it’s as if I’ve woken in a strange room and I can feel eyes on me or there’s someone in the flat with us or - I don’t know. Rationally, I know that there is nothing to fear. I mean, there’s plenty of things to fear but dark isn’t one of them and I’ve tried everything but it never seems to go away.” 

As abruptly as he’d started talking, he stopped. It was silent for a moment before Combeferre chuckled bitterly. 

“Sorry. It’s frustrating,” he admits, glancing at Courfeyrac and forcing a tight smile.

“No. No, you don’t need to apologise. Here, look... Turn off the light?” 

Combeferre hesitates but ultimately complies, flicking off the bedside lamp and automatically shutting his eyes. 

He’s tense, that much is obvious to Courfeyrac. 

“I’m right here,” he murmurs, closing the distance and winding his arms around Combeferre’s waist. Gently, he peppers kisses all over his lover’s bare shoulder, hoping that the familiarity of the gesture will calm him somewhat. “And I’m not going anywhere, okay? Just relax. You’ll be alright.”

One hand finds its way up and Courfeyrac begins to stroke Combeferre’s hair, soothing him until they finally drift off together once again, Combeferre safe and warm in Courfeyrac’s arms.


End file.
